


Colic and Cannibalism

by IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Series, depictions of miscarriage, murderbaby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-04-15 06:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4596210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow/pseuds/IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of prompts relating to Hannibal and Bedelia's past, present and future. AU. Mostly Murderbaby fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loss

**Author's Note:**

> Depiction of Miscarriage ahead.

She wakes with a dull sensation in her stomach, ebbing. “Hannibal,” she groans, her arm absently hitting his side of the bed in an attempt to stir him, only to find it empty and cold.

Bedelia lets a sharp cry when she sits up, sharp pain shooting through her middle. “Ha-Hannibal,” she bellows, her voice cracking as she stumbles from the bed to the support of the bathroom doorframe. He should be able to hear her.

Unless he was… _out._

She quickly dispels the thought, pain surging up her back and into her pelvis. They cannot go to a hospital, this much she knows. Their pictures may not be plastered all over Florence like they are in America, but the risk would be unnecessary regardless.  Nausea overcomes her and she drops to her knees, her clammy left hand trying to hold her hair back. She wretches when she hears his quickened footsteps; feels his hands holding back her thick blonde hair.

“Hannibal,” she moans, feeling the viscous liquid in her underwear that she knows is blood. She knew this was a possibility. The fact that she was even pregnant at her age was a miracle. But she couldn’t help but hope. A child of a murderesss and a Cannibal was a child regardless, and she had tried _so hard_ in the past. She stifles a sob when he helps her rise from the toilet, giving her ibuprofen that she shouldn’t have and a cool washcloth to press against her lips.

He already knows, but she feels the words escape out of her throat in a fractured whisper. “I’m losing the baby.”

“Are you able to withstand the pain, Bedelia?” His voice is calm and impassive. She swats at the hand that attempts to push the hair from her eyes.

“Go,” she whispers sternly.

This is a loss she will mourn alone.


	2. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedelia is Hungry, and not for Hannibal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by tumblr user Emmyeccentric who sent the prompt: my murderbaby prompt is just one word: "hungry". have fuuunnnnn

In the time they have been together, Hannibal has seen many faces of his unconventional psychiatrist turned wife. This, however, is a new one. Her eyes are closed in concentration as she slowly rubs the hard mound of her stomach. She isn’t pained, per say, but he cannot determine the exact expression- she’s changed so much.

“Is our waiter ever going to come?” she nearly hisses between her teeth and it is so unlikely for her to be carelessly angry that he pauses in sipping his water.

“Are you in a hurry?” He asks thoughtfully, glancing around the small outdoor pavilion. From his vantage point, he easily locates the bathroom, so it cannot be her bladder currently causing the indignation etched on her usually flawless face.

 “It isn’t me. It’s your son, Hannibal.” She says with a near groan, rubbing soothing circles across the blue fabric covering her belly. He hears a soft grumble and finally identifies her expression: Hunger.

Her blue eyes are not filled with lust or desire, just yearning and unfortunately, his body will not provide proper sustenance this time.

The waiter finally arrives and she’s etched her mask of coolness back onto her face.

His eyes drift for a moment to her swollen exposed breasts, and he loses concentration on their conversation, watching the rise and fall of her ample chest. When he hears her audible ‘huff,’ he drifts seamlessly back into the conversation.  

“I would prefer to have it rare,”

“We are not qualified to serve-”

She sighs deeply and concedes disappointingly. Hannibal quickly orders his dish and watches as the waiter leaves.

They sit in comfortable silence and he slowly catalogues her body and the way it has transformed. Her cheeks have lost their sallow and her figure has gained some fullness, reminiscent of the early days of their relationship. He finally breaks the silence with a clinical observation.

“Your cravings have changed, Bedelia.”

“You’ve been away for months,” she says with a sip of her orange juice, warding off any defensiveness her voice might adopt. Her throat contracts as she swallows, and it is clear from the soft, satisfied smile on her lips that the juice agrees with both her and the child taking residence in her womb. “It seems as though he’s rejected my choice of salads, and vegetables as of late,” she shifts in the chair as elegantly as a woman 8 ½ months pregnant can. “I’ve resorted to visiting the butcher, but I cannot achieve the particular taste my body covets.” He recognizes the desperation mixed with detestation in her eyes and knows it well. Self-denial was something neither of them excelled in, but Bedelia pains at the thought of denying their child.

“You’re craving a particular meat.” Hannibal reaches into his pocket and removes his wallet, soon sliding a white business card across the table. It is a subtle gesture, but she is immediately aware of the implications. “I can help you, if you ask me to.”

Her voice a soft, almost pleading whisper, spoken just after the waiter places their food upon the table.

“Will you help me satisfy my hunger?” 


	3. Bath Time

The baby squeals in delight as her father places her into the warm, soapy suds.

“Shh, Annalise,” he says softly, his hands rubbing her soft baby skin, now soaked in water. “Mommy is sleeping.The baby in her tummy makes her very tired.”  Annalise furrows her brow, seeming to understand and quiets, making small sounds of enjoyment as her father rubs shampoo into her hair. In her year and a half of life, her father has always been the one to wash her hair, and she looks forward to it.

Hannibal takes a cup from the side of the deep, porcelain sink and fills it halfway with warm water, before slowly pouring it over Annalise’s head. His other hand cups the top of her forehead gently and tips it back to make sure soap does not get into her precious blue eyes: her mother’s.

After he finishes washing her, Annalise claps her hands together happily as Hannibal wraps her up in the ducky towel: her favorite. She remembers a doggy towel coming in the mail, but it made her father mad and her mother pack a suitcase; she has not seen the towel since.

After bath time, Hannibal slowly rubs baby lotion on her chubby legs and arms, and dries her blonde hair; its finally getting long. The brush he uses is soft and white and she loves the way the bristles feel on her scalp. Annalise can’t understand why, but sometimes her father calls her Mischa. When her Mother hears, she takes her away from her father and goes into the bedroom, locking the door. Mommy sometimes cries then, and rubs Annalise’s back with her long, gentle nails. On those days, between her tears, her mother repeats “I will protect you,” and “no one will harm you.” 

Today isn’t one of those days. Mommy is sleeping and Daddy only calls her Annalise. He says when she gets older; he will teach her how to French braid. Annalise doesn’t know what that means, but she smiles and reaches beseechingly for her father, who picks her up and rocks her in his arms until she falls asleep.


	4. I Forgive You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Anon who asked: Bedelia having her baby with or without Hannibal. Occurs after season 3 stinger.

She wakes with a stabbing pain in her abdomen, so painful she shouts. The noise sounds strange coming from her own throat. Medical school and her own personal preparations should have equipped her for this, but she has quickly discovered that along with the Braxton hicks, swelling ankles, and morning sickness-it has not.

Bedelia waits until her current contraction ends and then slowly pushes herself up to a sitting position in bed, reaching to the burner phone beside her bed.

“Bedelia?” He questions, his voice laced with worry. She hasn’t called in nearly four months when she feared she’d had a miscarriage. He’d been there in minutes.

* * *

 

_Hannibal raced into her third story apartment, tucked away down a cobblestone street. He had known where she’d been living before he read about her disappearance on tattlecrime.com. Freddie Lound’s headline had been crude enough to make his own stomach turn-_

_Murder Husbands Feast Again-The Final Disappearing Act of Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier_

_He found her on the floor of her bathroom, her right leg supporting her bottom, while the space where her left leg should be was empty. It was still a sight he needed to get used to, as the last he’d seen her had been their tryst right before his unfortunate meeting with Will Graham, where she warned him that Will Graham would betray him again. He hadn’t realized at the time that she too would face the consequences for his actions. He should’ve known._

_“I can’t move off the floor, Hannibal,” she says, her voice shaking in obvious shame.“I began bleeding last night and I can’t seem to support myself enough to stand.” He pauses for a moment, contemplating the best way to help her, before he simply scoops her into his arms and takes her back to her bedroom. He can feel dampness on the back on her nightgown and smells blood in the air, noting suddenly the smell of saline._

_When he glances down at Bedelia, her eyes are clouded with tears that begin to spill over her cheeks. Her hand knots in his coat and she buries her head in his dress shirt. “I wanted this child.”_

_Her words are powerful to him, the whole evening a breakthrough in spite of the circumstances. She hasn’t spoken to him since her disappearance, and he’s never missed her more. Hannibal places her down into the bed, and begins to help her change her clothes, when his hands brush over the end of her left thigh and the remainder of a conversation they have never spoken. Their eyes locking, He realizes that this is the only chance he’s ever going to get, and he takes his hands into hers._

_“Please Bedelia. You need to know I never meant for this to happen.” Her response is firm and directive, despite her apparent suffering._

_“You need to leave. Now.”_

* * *

 

“Hannibal, it’s time,” she cannot keep the panic from her voice. While she ends the connection before she hears his response, for deep-seated fear that he will laugh at her struggles, her deepest, innermost self hopes that he will come.

She reaches for the crutches beside her bed, and threads them through her arms, placing her forearms into the braces. It is by no means graceful, let alone while carrying a full-term child, but she refused the wheelchair he offered, and the prosthesis was not an option in her current situation, so she would have to manage. Bedelia slowly makes her way to the bathroom, thankful for the short distance as her next contraction nearly topples her. She braces herself on the bathroom doorframe and breaths heavily, rubbing small, slow circles over her stomach until the pain subsides. Finally, she makes her way to the bronze-tinged deep soaker claw-foot bathtub, her only requirement when apartment hunting, and turns the knobs on the taps. While Bedelia knows she’s in no way close to delivery, she demands the comfort of the tub. Before she can begin to remove her clothes, he is at her side.

“You came,” her voice is a simple whisper, and he simply acknowledges her with a nod, helping ease her out of her clothing and into the expanse of the water. When Bedelia’s next contraction comes nearly 10 minutes later, her head drops to the cool lip of the tub and she moans in pain. Hannibal laces his fingers with hers and she squeezes his hand.

When her contraction has finished he cups his hands and begins to dampen her hair with the cool water, beginning at her forehead, which has begun to develop a light sheen of sweat. He knows he cannot wash her hair in the water, so instead he runs his fingers through her hair and massages her scalp. The sensation takes her back to a different time.

“I once told you all of our endings can be found in our beginnings,” her voice is slow and calculating. It was only years ago when this conversation targeted his innermost secrets.

“And is this an ending” he asks lightly, his hands pausing on her scalp. She hums deeply in response.

“When I’m in the water, when I am with you like this, I almost feel as if I’m whole again.”

She can feel his warm, wet tears in her hair; can practically hear the teacup shattering in his ruined memory palace.

She lets out a small, satisfied breath, and takes his hand, preparing for her next contraction.

“ _I forgive you_.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to request a prompt in this series, please leave a comment below or inbox me on tumblr at ShadeQueenScully :)


End file.
